


Torn From My Grasp

by vongarblue



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Drinking, Felix is rude and crude and Dedue is doting what's new, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Mood Whiplash, Open to Interpretation, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Soul-Searching, Unbeta'd, vaguely set on the Verdant Wind route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vongarblue/pseuds/vongarblue
Summary: It’s 1187,  two years since the man once known as the the Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus vanished in the wake of Gronder Field’s bloodshed.  Fódlan moved on—everyone moved on. All, it seemed, except Felix.“I’m looking for a man. Blond hair, about a head taller than me. Blue eyes, the right one’s missing.  Seen him?”





	Torn From My Grasp

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of an alternate Verdant Wind route our Blue Lions boys, so beware vague hints at spoilers.

_ Garland Moon, 1187 _

Felix winced at the first strike of noa fruit mead against his tongue, detesting its sweetness even as he proceeded to take several deep gulps. The sickly saccharine alcohol coagulated like sap against the back of his throat.

Only a low din of chatter wafted through the tavern despite it being the only such establishment in town -- a small and remote village located an entire day's ride north of Mateus.

He lowered the rusty tankard from his mouth momentarily, resting his elbow against the table while he watched a balding, middle-aged man wiping down the table beside his with a dirty rag. The man lifted a corner of his apron to blot away the light sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Judging by the way he barked orders at passing staff, it was safe to assume this man was the inn’s proprietor. Felix fixed his gaze back on the container in his hand and spoke in a detached voice the same sequence of words he’s uttered countless times, now so familiar to his lips they came automatically.

“I’m looking for a man. Blond hair, about a head taller than me. Blue eyes, the right one’s missing. Seen him?”

Sometimes he would get an answer to the affirmative. A mistake, a dead-end, or some man who vaguely matched the description if you squinted. Other times these “tips” led him straight into ambushes, a cutpurse pressing a blade to his neck while demanding he hand over his coin; he’d even fought his way out of a thieves’ den deep inside a cave once.

There was no lack of crime and misery to go around following the war, plenty of grudges and ill will remaining for former enemies. The new Queen of united Fódlan fancied herself a breaker of borders, successfully garnering the support of the late Kingdom’s most influential figures, the noble houses—his father included -- pledging their support to her cause. But the world wasn’t going change to overnight. _People _didn’t change that fast. And Felix found that fact gave him a sick sort of comfort, even as it disgusted him. He was born to fight, and people always needed killing, even in this new age. He still had the blade, if nothing else.

A few guests seated at the tables nearest him paused their chatter long enough to glance over when they heard his lowly asked question. Some only looked mildly interested, but others were obviously frightened, eyes moving to rest on his sword belt, taking him for a mercenary or even a bandit. It never would have crossed their minds that this was the surviving son of Duke Fraldarius, said to have abandoned his house two years prior. And that suited Felix just fine --he’d _never_ looked the part of a highborn lord, and “mercenary” described what he did these days perfectly.

The man he addressed halted his motions and turned towards him. Felix didn’t look up to meet his eyes, but he could hear the man’s faint movements as he lifted a hand to his chin and hummed in thought. Curious eyes bored a hole into him.

“No. Can’t say I have.” The proprietor finally replied after a pause before continuing, intrigued. “But I see lots of people in here. Why are you looking for this man in particular?”

The dark-haired swordsman merely grunted as response, lifting the drink back to his lips. The other man shrugged and resumed his cleaning.

_Harpstring Moon, 1185 _

He couldn’t be sure if the raw, metallic odor he smelled on the wind lashing his cheeks was actually there, or if he merely recalled the stench of battle from three days ago.

Felix stared out across the bleak landscape that had so recently been swarming with troops. He’d come out here, retracing the southernmost path taken by the retreating Imperial army, the same stretch along which those fighting nearby during had reported last seeing the mad king of Faerghus. Here and there lied the occasional corpse, either not yet retrieved for burial by its army or else simply left to rot; but neither he, nor any of the Kingdom knights who scoured the battlefield as soon as it was safe enough to do so, had found any trace of the monarch among them.

“He’s not here.” He stated plainly, feeling a strange mixture of both relief and disappointment.

“Yeah… and if he were taken prisoner, we would have heard by now.” The redhead beside him responded while tilting his face up to the gray sky overhead. “The soldiers who witnessed it reported that he just…charged into the retreating columns and _vanished_. The answer seems obvious, but…”

“He’s probably not dead.”

Sylvain nodded. “But it’s so weird. Those who went missing in battle have been accounted for as dead. All _except_ those two, and neither one of them is what I’d call easy to miss.”

“That stupid boar…” Felix muttered, glaring as hard as he could at the empty path as though Dimitri might be able to see his ire from wherever he was. “Just where _is_ he?”

“With Dedue missing too, it’s kind of hard to believe it’s just coincidence, don’t you think?” Sylvain trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought.

“What do you mean?”

A halfhearted grin flitted to his companion’s face then, but it was forced. Even Sylvain, a man who took the time to immaculately style his hair every morning while on _march,_ looked haggard in the wake of that scarlet nightmare. “I mean, maybe they eloped as soon as they heard the Alliance army beat back the Empire, huh? His Highness left us behind so he could relax while surrounded by beauties on a beach in Dagda while we’re over here ankle-deep in mud.”

_Left behind._

Felix couldn’t help the way the words cut deep into his chest, sharp as a honed blade, piercing through a barely scabbed wound. The familiar sinking sensation, the chill lump at the pit of his stomach. All at once he was a child again, chasing after another tiny back ahead of him, always just out of reach—

“Don’t be stupid.” He managed to growl out, turning away before his face could betray him. “As if that beast would let anything stand between him and his prey.”

“Well, it _is_ a possibility.”

“A stupid one.” The dark-haired man sighed in exasperation, trying to force the unpleasant sensation from his limbs and focus on the matter at hand. It was clear they weren’t going to get anywhere like this, and every moment they stayed was time wasted. “We need to get back and put together a party to scout deeper into imperial territory.”

Unexpectedly, Sylvain went rigid at those words, his expression shifting to one of guilt. He kneaded his lips together as he looked uneasily between the raven-haired man and the dirt at his feet. “Unfortunately, that may be kind of difficult now…”

“_Why_?” Felix turned to narrow his eyes in question at the taller man. They had departed Kingdom territory with the rations necessary to allow a westward push towards Bergliez, had they prevailed at Gronder. There, they would have taken the town and established a steady supply line for an assault on Enbarr. Since that course of action was no longer on the table, their present stores would be sufficient for a prolonged stay.

“Well…your father asked me to let him tell you directly, and_ I_ only know because I was standing in for House Gautier, but...”

“Out with it.” Felix barked impatiently.

The other man finally let out a defeated sigh, shrugging in surrender. “It was decided this morning that the Kingdom forces are riding back north at dawn.” He paused for a moment before continuing when Felix's eyes went wide. “Your father and I were outvoted; It was practically unanimous, and the loyalist houses can’t afford to fight among themselves. The order to make preparations will go out this evening.”

He blinked for several moments as it sunk in just _what_ he was being told. The bitter realization crashed over him like a tidal wave even as dark mirth boiled in his chest, prompting his lips to twist into a biting grin.

“That didn’t take long.” He punctuated his venom with a humorless bark of laughter. “So the Kingdom forces are already regrouped and ready to scurry back, are they? Even after what happened the last time he was presumed dead?” After their ceaseless talk of honor, their impassioned vows of unwavering loyalty to a king that neither deserved nor desired such fealty.

“Look, your father believes his Highness is alive out there as much as we do. But he can’t keep his troops stationed here forever. Everyone’s anxious thinking about the defense back home.” The redhead gestured lightly, but the way his brow was drawn along with the frown etched on his lips betrayed his true feelings.

“We had forces stay back for _exactly_ that reason.”

“It's not just that. There’s also the fact that his Highness was…well. Like _that_. They spent five years believing he was dead-- we _all_ did. I guess...it’s not hard to see why they’d make a quick comeback in these circumstances. Plus with the outcome of the battle…”

“If the Kingdom disintegrates, he loses his value as a figurehead.”

Sylvain cringed, expression pained. “Yeah… if you want to put it that way. I suspect it too.”

It had been the Alliance forces combined with the Knights of Seiros, who had driven back the imperial forces three days prior. House Charon had already defected to join their cause, and there were whisperings that several of the minor houses were considering following suit.

“Look…” Sylvain reached forward to clap a hand on his shoulder. “We should head back to the camp. Staying out here in Imperial territory alone for too long is asking for trouble.”

Felix felt like he was on a precipice. Dimitri might be dead. Even if they hadn’t found a body, that didn’t mean the enemy hadn’t taken it as a morbid trophy or some other such tasteless act.

Still…when he thought back to the horrible lump of regret that lodged in his throat when he saw him again in that state and wondered, _could he have done something? _

While the presumably dead prince had been wandering in solitude for five years, there were occasions when Felix accompanied his father beyond the traitor’s borders to stave against imperial expansion into outlying territories. He could have been _right there_, so close they might have happened across one another by accident. Beyond the other side of a fortification, camping at the opposite end of a forest – a possibility that sent sheer, agonizing frustration coiling through his gut.

He would _not_ willingly allow himself to feel such sick, unshakeable regret ever again. Even if what he searched for was only a burnt-out husk of the boy he once knew. His father’s hands were tied, and so were Sylvain’s. But _his_ weren’t.

If their armies were leaving tomorrow, he knew what he had to do.

Without saying anything, he began to walk down the desolate path continuing south with steady steps, away from the army encampment. 

“Felix…” His childhood friend called to his back, but not in question. It sounded more like knowing resignation. He could feel the concerned gaze digging into his back, but he didn’t turn around.

For several moments, all that could be heard was the wind rustled the trees lining the path, the distant trickle of a nearby stream, and his footfalls on the dirt echoing with finality. After a pause, he finally opened his mouth to answer.

“I’m not going back.”

He was _not _going to stand idly by. Not again.

_Garland Moon, 1187 _

The swordsman wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been there, but he now finished his drink off, tilting his head back to reach the final dregs even as he motioned to a passing barmaid to bring him another.

She soon returned to place his mead in front of him. But rather than walking away immediately, she paused. He could feel her eyes on him, appraising, and when he didn’t acknowledge her, she slid into the seat beside him.

“You seem awfully lonely, sitting here all by yourself.” She pressed closer, bringing her face near his, ostensibly to allow her voice to be heard over the chatter and bustle of the other patrons, but the way she was pressing her breasts against his arm told of different reasons. “You look like you could use some company. C’mon, you’re too handsome to be making a face like that!” She giggled, and he felt a pair of soft arms twine around his shoulders, long nails grazing along his neck with deliberate movements. A cloying floral scent now cloaked him.

This was par for the course in these types of establishments, of course, and Felix would ordinarily brush such invitations off with a curt, “Not interested.” However. When he finally lowered an irritated gaze to really _look _at the barmaid clinging to his arm, he felt a ghost of longing run through his chest. She was attractive, of course; well-featured with ample cleavage that was barely contained by her frilled neckline. But _that_ wasn’t what grabbed his attention.

Lustrous blond hair, so similar yet so unlike the spun gold Felix slid his fingers across in his dreams. Blue eyes that weren’t quite as rich in hue as they should be peering up at him with a coquettish glint. Seeing the kind of unmasked hunger for him in those that he would never see in the real thing might have been enough to spoil the illusion entirely if he didn’t already have a drink down. 

Felix didn’t shove the woman off as her hands trailed down his sleeve to grasp his gloved hand, allowing himself to be tugged up from his seat and led across the floor towards the stairs leading to the second floor.

His second drink remained untouched.

_Wyvern Moon, 1180 _

He couldn’t say why he followed him after hearing yet _again_ the soft closing of the bedroom door next to his in the dead of night, but by the time Felix realized his actions, he was already committed. He’d managed to ignore the sounds of the other’s midnight walks on four separate occasions that week, and had felt a nagging irritation each time. He ground his teeth together when he heard the door next to his lightly close, his indignant frustration swelling to the breaking point.

He kept to the shadows, darting around corners in silence like a cat stalking its prey, all the way to the library. He found him placing his lamp on a hook, and beginning to gather various materials, quickly pulling text from different shelves and piling them onto a desk, apparently having located them often enough that he had their places memorized. He took one from the pile began poring over its contents.

Felix chose that moment to make his presence known, deliberately shoved a chair as he made his way over and watching as the other man immediately snap the thick book shut and spin around with look of tense panic. 

“Felix?” The boar’s shoulders relaxed visibly when he recognized him, and instantly, the mask was in place. The damned wall that refused to budge no matter how hard he pounded his fists against it, how fiercely he shouted at it, how persistently he tore at it. “Whatever are you doing here at this time of night?”

“I could ask _you_ the same thing.” He growled back without stopping. “Just what are _you_ doing in here in the middle of the night?” The blond flinched only minutely at the sudden demand, then gave a sheepish chuckle. Felix could see the cracks in it.

“I am somewhat embarrassed to admit this, but I find myself lacking confidence on the subject of Professor Hanneman’s lecture earlier. I came to review.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Well, I would never hear the end of it were I to be seen struggling with the subject.” Another stiff laugh that made Felix want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“For four nights this week? I don’t think so.” That thick tome in his hands didn’t look like it had anything remotely to do with the history of Albinean trade routes, either.

When he kept coming closer, Dimitri stepped backward, eyes widening; A laughable action considering he was _allowing _Felix to do this.

“Have my visits been waking you? My apologies.” He kept edging back until his back hit the bookcase. “I endeavored to be quiet, but-” Felix charged forward and without missing a beat, slammed one hand against the shelf behind the blond’s back, effectively silencing him mid-sentence. Dimitri’s eyes went wide.

Felix didn’t say anything, only used their sudden proximity to search his expression for-- he wasn’t sure what. He hated himself for noting in the back of his mind how nice the other smelled, far closer in that moment than they ever got while sparring. It was so comfortable and _familiar_ that it made his chest ache.

_Goddess_, he’d give anything just to make him _smile_ at him again, really smile, the way he used to before the world came crashing down around them.

The crafted mask relaxed and momentarily shifted into a smile of resignation as blue irises simply watched him, not making any move. But that deceptive tinge of wistfulness he saw there caught him off guard; the welling of hope he fought so hard to stifle spread up slowly from the pit of his stomach.

The dim light from the oil lamp offered the sole illumination in the room, creating dancing shadows with the flickering of the flame, casting illusions. Dimitri looked almost_ vulnerable_ like this, and it called to mind bittersweet memories. He felt dizzy; it wasn’t fair, looking at him like that.

He made him so _weak_, he always had, and that fact only served to further fuel his vexation. Felix was always reaching out to him, prompting him to take his hand the way he best knew how. But the other had no idea what he was doing to him.

_Let me see it so I can tear it out of you. I’ll cut that darkness away from you._

His free hand darted up to his uniform collar, roughly jerking him down to a more acceptable level and crashing their lips together.

The impact stung, but he paid it no mind. He heard the blond’s startled intake of breath through his nose, his Felix could feel the edge of the book Dimitri still held dug into his stomach, like a barrier preventing him from pushing their bodies flush together. He didn’t kiss him back, but he wasn’t shoving him off, either. 

The shorter man parted his lips slightly, pressing even more insistently, desperately searching for _something_. He could feel a tingle of warmth spreading through his chest, pleasantly light, counterbalancing the leaden weight that had occupied the space for so long. Without realizing it, he’d removed his other hand from the bookcase to press against the side of the prince’s cheek instead.

He distantly registered the pressure of the tome disappearing, the heavy sound of it slamming against the aged wooden floor. And he wasn’t sure if, in that dark library full of twisting illusions, he only imagined the hands that lifted to his back for the briefest of moments, pulling him closer, or the encouraging sound that issued from the throat of the man in his hold that sent a coil of warmth spreading through his groin.

“…!”

He never got the chance to find out. A loud creak of wood came from the entrance, and before Felix could process what was happening, he was abruptly shoved away, narrowly losing his balance and falling backward from the sudden and unexpected force.

“Professor…” He heard Dimitri murmur.

He glanced up from his position on the floor over to see the mercenary professor, the one in charge of the Golden Deer class, standing at the library door. She leveled Felix and Dimitri both with an unreadable gaze.

“I heard a loud noise as I was returning from Professor Manuela’s office.” She called. “It’s awfully late. Is anything wrong?”

“No, professor, I apologize for alarming you.” The boar’s tone was infuriatingly composed, even as the warm glow of firelight could almost fool one into thinking his cheeks were faintly flushed. “I was careless and dropped a book, that is all.”

If the woman had seen more, she held her tongue. She merely nodded in comprehension and departed.

Felix got to his feet, roughly swatting away the blond’s offered hand, and briskly moved to exit the library and return to his room.

Behind him, he heard Dimitri murmur a soft apology for shoving him. 

_Verdant Rain Moon, 1187 _

He cursed under his breath when he felt a sudden droplet of water mixed in with the gusts whipping against his face, his horse maintaining a brisk pace along the hills. The moon would turn in only a few days, and the gradual transformation of seasons was already underway. The air now carried a slight chill and the unmistakable scent of autumn. 

The rainy season was in its final death throes now, but the approaching end only made it cling to life more tenaciously, switching tactics to brief and ferocious strikes that were impossible to predict. 

The raindrops quickly transformed from drizzle to deluge, and his mount began to falter as it instinctively sought to turn its back against the sudden barrage of elements. Felix clicked his tongue; the next town was still roughly four hours away. He’d need to stop, but fortuitously, the mountainous landscape was dotted with many rocky crags jutting upward from the earth, at least offering decent cover by which to weather the storm.

He decided on a clearing beside a small grouping of several of the large slab-like stones that would provide a barrier against the wind. Upon closer inspection, there were signs that others had camped in that very spot. Quite some time ago, in fact, given the condition of abandoned rusty containers, practically disintegrated by oxidation, and even the top half of a mud-covered bow. But most worthy of note to Felix were the stones still piled up around an indentation into the ground for a fire.

Before long, his horse was tied comfortably beside one of the large rocks, and he successfully erected a makeshift awning for himself using the small tent packed among his few belongings loaded on the animal’s sidepack. With any luck, the rain would clear before sundown and he’d be free to continue on his way without having to contend with spending the night.

A tingle ran through his palm as a fire spell sparked to his fingers. The powerful flames caught even to the rain-soaked kindling and tree branches he’d gathered up, the embers rapidly flaring to life and warming him immediately. It was times like this he felt most thankful that he’d studied some fundamental reason magic, as grudging as he’d been at the time of allocating his time and energy to anything that would detract his sword mastery. A smile unconsciously tugged at his lips when he thought of the pout Annette would have given him over that sentiment. 

He sighed, a ripple of melancholy descending over his spirits like a veil. He hated times of idleness like this on his journey, when it was too early to sleep, and there was nothing on which to use his blade; It allowed him too much time with his own thoughts.

Beneath his impromptu shelter, he wiped a rag over his sword and began to sharpen it with a whetstone. The keen sound of steel on stone was swallowed up by a rumble of thunder from overhead.

_Look ahead and take action rather than dwelling on the past and things that can’t be changed_; That was always what he advocated.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Here he was, searching endlessly for what remained of the young boy at whose side he spent his childhood never doubting he belonged. For whom his youthful self never questioned he would one day serve as right hand, as honed blade, as stalwart shield. Always hunting for a beast fettered by phantoms of yesterday, the boar who had in turn shackled Felix with the specter of his friend residing just beneath its surface.

The man who cast off Felix’s offered hand even as he clung to another’s to keep his head above the rushing waters trying to sink him. A hand that latched on to Dimitri with a vice grip; steady, reliable, and unwilling to let go, a stable foundation offering refuge in the tempest. And Felix couldn’t help but think, _that should have been me._

He knew it, sensed it instinctively the first time he saw him again three months after the Tragedy. It had been a time of mourning for them both, and by the time his father acquiesced to allow him to ride to Fhirdiad with him, it was too late. His best friend was unreachable, and a boy from Duscur had usurped his place.

For the first time, he felt the burden of that weight in the pit of his stomach, the hot molten steel lodged in his throat. It was uncanny; Dimitri acted the way he always had, but his smiles were hollow and cold. He wore a lifeless mask.

But he came to realize Dimitri _couldn’t _smile at him anymore. Not with the weight of the Tragedy hanging between them, not after the truth Felix discovered on the fateful day during the western suppression. But later on, at the academy, he realized he _was_ still in there.

He saw it in the way the blond’s eyes would sparkle, so subtly it would have been missed by someone who didn’t know him so well. The way his entire bearing would soften with deep, unquestioning trust. The sound of a melodious laugh, and the way he _smiled_…it was the one Felix had known and loved as a child, a piece of divine light that enveloped him with joy no matter how foul his mood, granted him the confidence to overcome any challenge.

But no longer was any of it for him. And Felix felt so much loathing in those moments he could taste bile in the back of his throat.

Still, no matter how he struggled and thrashed, the swordsman wasn’t able to let go, ceaselessly reaching towards the retreating shadow even as its weight pulled him to terrifying depths from which he couldn’t hope to resurface.

His horse gave a whinny then, harshly jerking him back out of his reverie. His hand had long since stopped moving his blade across the whetstone, and the rain had already let up. A thin trickle of sunlight even fought its way through a crack in the grey clouds.

Felix scrambled to put out the fire, packed up his few items, and resumed his route to the next town.

The raucous noise of the crowd inside the first tavern he came across assaulted his ears as soon as he opened the door, nearly prompted him to go right back out and keep moving. But he first had to ask:

“I’m looking for a man. Blond hair, about a head taller than me. Blue eyes, the right one’s missing. Seen him?”

_Horsebow Moon, 1187 _

_“Shit.”_

He cursed, dislodging his blade from the gurgling throat of a man, letting the soon-to-be corpse slam to the ground. He gave a snarl of irritation and lifted his arm to inspect the blood soaking through his sliced right sleeve. Another dead end, which he expected; but this time, he’d been careless.

The secluded winery looked deserted when he arrived, the land outside sprouting weeds rather than grapes, and the windows were all blocked. The paint peeling from the building’s wooden exterior hinted at better days. No one answered when he knocked, and finding the door open, he let himself inside: only to be immediately descended upon by five bandits – highwaymen that had surely taken the lives of the original inhabitants, hiding out in the isolated location in order to carry out their trade away from the prying eyes of town militia. 

The swordsman had no trouble dispatching them, but when he landed a killing blow on one, he only barely spotted a dagger in his peripheral, glinting faintly in the thin stream of sunlight filtering through gaps of boarded windows. He reacted immediately, but couldn’t dodge entirely; Sharp fire coursed through his arm as the blade sliced deep into his flesh.

He stepped over the corpses in his path with a huff as he made his way back to his horse, thoroughly annoyed by his own negligence. The cut was deep enough that he couldn’t take care of it on his own, but he couldn’t get away with ignoring it either. He wouldn’t bleed to death at least, but he’d need to see a healer if he didn’t want it to reopen as soon as it clotted. He tied a scrap of fabric around his arm to stem the flow, practically hearing Mercedes’ displeased, motherly voice scolding him for declining her offers to teach him faith magic.

He recalled the small farm village he’d passed his way there. It would do.

In no time, he had made his way back to the colorful fields he’d bypassed earlier. He could make out a cluster of thatched roofs in the distance beyond, and set his course for them.

Agriculture was obviously the primary source of livelihood for its residents, their grasslands brimming with abundant crops, and the faint odor of animals in the air suggested they also cultivated livestock.

He rode past lines of stakes coiled with robust tomatoes, looking out over the carefully tended rows of chickpeas, turnips, cabbages, and carrots. With the harvest season now in full swing, it wasn’t surprising to see numerous villagers out busily gathering with woven baskets, cloth sacks, and wheelbarrows. Others were carrying crates of produce back to the village center, loading them onto carriages for transport to market in the morning.

He found a spot to tie his horse and stepped into the town. A low hum of chatter and the cries of children playing rang through the air along with the chirping of birds overhead. Others were working, transporting fruit, herbs, vegetables. Thick trees and foliage covered the scenery; the overall sense of tranquility in the village struck him as something that would be more at home in one of the fantastical tales Ingrid loved so much.

This area was several days south from the former border between Adrestian and Western Kingdom territory. It occurred to him, then, that this feeling of cheer and serenity in the air was only a matter of course. Due to its geographical position, the people here had likely been spared the worst ravages of the war that were still being felt almost everywhere else.

He made his way over to what seemed like the main road, a full stretch of aged cobblestones. As he walked across the square, his blood-covered sleeve, not to mention the very trace amounts of backscatter from the bandits he killed earned him no few number of suspicious looks. 

He checked up and down the road but didn’t see anything resembling a healer’s clinic. Of course, a small place like this wouldn’t necessarily _need _to have the location of a doctor obviously marked by a signboard. Every resident here would know where one could be found.

With that in mind, he waited for several moments until he spotted another villager heading past him down the road on their way back from the fields, a crate hoisted over their shoulder that was so large it obscured their face from view.

“You there.” He called out, stepping forward. “I’m looking for a healer. Where can-“

The person stopped walking as they heard his voice, shifting the crate to their other shoulder with effortless ease as they turned to face him. 

And the words died on Felix’s tongue.

His heart pounded rapidly against the confines of his ribcage, and he dimly began to question whether his wound was more severe than he thought, if he’d maybe lost a great deal more blood than he knew. Or, perhaps the dagger that stabbed him was coated in poison.

Because _surely_ he was hallucinating.

The tall man’s golden blond hair glistened in the midday autumn sunlight, slightly tousled from physical exertion. Eyes blinked back at him curiously, one pale and unseeing with a scar that reached across his eyelid, all the way from a spot below his eyebrow down to the top of his cheekbone. The other was a deep, endlessly rich cobalt, a hue more stunning than any gemstone; a color he’d beheld in only one other place.

Felix inhaled sharply, but the air only lodged in his esophagus and crystallized into a lump. He couldn’t breathe.

“A healer?” As the villager tilted his head in consideration, the golden earrings he wore jingling with the movement. “There is only one, and she has left town on an errand…” Felix flinched as the familiar voice sent another shockwave down his spine. The other man didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he frowned when his gaze landed on Felix’s bloodstained sleeve.

“That _does_ look to be a rather nasty wound. You should at least get it disinfected. If you like, I can tend to it until she returns?” The man's frown deepened immediately after the offer left his mouth, brow scrunching as he seemingly reconsidered. “Well... perhaps not _me_. I am rather clumsy with delicate tasks. But my friend is more than capable.”

Felix opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to respond with something, _anything_, but no words would come out. His mouth was dry, his whole body felt numb. He was paralyzed, as if he’d been hit with a thunder spell. Innumerable questions flashed through his mind while his pulse hammered against his ears. Was it- could it really be _him_? If so, why wasn’t he saying anything? Why didn’t he recognize him?

The man’s eyes grew a fraction as he continued to watch him, sudden realization dawning in his eyes. “Ah, of course, I understand if you would rather not. You do not know me, after all.” His tone was light, but his eyes momentarily flickered with something Felix couldn’t place.

“To answer your question, Doctor Nima lives on the western path branching off at the end of this road. You should be able to recognize it by the large pegasus-shaped flower pot beside her door. I think she should be back by this evening.”

And then, with a polite nod of goodbye, he readjusted the crate on his shoulder and turned to resume his task.

_Left behind._

Felix’s arm shot forward of its own accord, a sense of heightened panic coursing through his veins. His gloved fingers clenched at the fabric, the vaguely familiar geometric patterns sewn into the cloth twisting under the force. The man looked back over his shoulder, bewildered by the traveler’s behavior.

“Yeah, I’ll…go with you…” Felix managed to force out, stumbling over his words. As the taller man turned around to face him fully once again, Felix was finally able to let out a breath.

“Oh? That is good to hear! It would be terrible if you suffered an infection. And, for some reason, you-…” The villager’s eyes narrowed, but he glanced away. When he looked back, he only shook his head in dismissal without continuing his thought.

The man hastened forward and placed the crate down with the countless others being loaded in the square, then jogged back to him. “My home is just to the south. Shall we be off?”

“First…” Felix gathered his courage, his voice hoarse. He felt the same mixture of hope and dread that a devout follower of Seiros might have as they find themselves standing before the final arbiter, awaiting their life’s judgment. Would it be everlasting bliss or eternal flames? “…What’s your name?”

The man _smiled_ then. Pure, genuine, unmasked.

“My name is Dimitri. Might I ask your name in turn?”

The weary traveler, face to face with his heart’s desire, finally felt his time begin to move once again.

\----

Felix spent over two years of his life traveling the continent, his thoughts occupied almost constantly by the man beside him. During that time, he had occasionally even allowed himself to picture what he would do or say whenever—_if_ ever-- he found him. But now that the moment had arrived? He was coming up blank. What was he supposed to say when his childhood friend did not seem to even _recognize_ him?

But during their brief walk, he couldn’t help but realize something. 

He watched him interact with the villagers, laughing with acquaintances who passed by – at one point, a young boy wielding a worn practice sword jogged up to him with eyes sparkling in pure admiration. Felix stood there rooted to the spot, captivated by the unspeakably soft glint that lit up the man’s eyes as he reached down to ruffle the child’s hair, explaining that he was busy at the moment, but that he would train with him the next day.

It was as if that all-consuming darkness had relinquished its relentless hold. Like the beast had finally been defeated, and his old friend was returned to him at last.

“Dima!” A small, elderly woman suddenly shouted from ahead of them, rushing up to the pair with startling speed for someone her age, lifting her skirts to avoid tripping over them.

“Who... _is…_this man?” She demanded between gasps, jabbing her finger in the direction of the dark-haired man. Her nose scrunched in blatant disgust as she sized him up, and his responding glare didn’t seem to phase her.

“Good day, miss Melika. This is Felix, a traveler with a bad wound.” He explained. “Doctor Nime left for supplies in the city this morning, but he needs treatment in the meantime.”

“And what, you decided to just…invite him home?” She pursed her lips in disapproval, causing her to resemble the Teutates Pike the swordsman ate for lunch. “Where is your beloved? This is exactly why he’s always so worried about you.”

Felix went as rigid as if he’d just been submerged in ice water.

“M-miss Melika, _please_. I have told you time and time again, people will misunderstand if you say things like that.” The blond shook his head in exasperation. “And I imagine he is at home.“

“_Misunderstanding_? You’re wearing clothes and jewelry he _made_ for you! In my day-”

If Felix held any doubts that the woman was doing this purely to taunt him, they were cast aside. The way she kept glancing at him, checking his reaction to the sting of her words, confirmed it. This _old hag._

“We are like family.” Dimitri clarified with a sigh, and Felix strongly suspected it wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation with her.

The hag suddenly let out a craggy cackle that brought to mind the obnoxious squawking of scavenger birds. “Child, if _family _looked at each other the way he looks at you-“ 

“My guest is wounded.” Dimitri politely reminded her as he cut her off, motioning to the shorter man’s sleeve. She gestured like he could bleed to death in the streets for all she cared, and the blond persisted. “Forgive me, but I really must cut this short. I will stop by and visit tomorrow- yes, yes, goodbye now.”

Felix felt her accusatory stare burning a hole into his back as they resumed walking; it was definitely more than a simple distrust of strangers.

“You must forgive her.” The man beside him rubbed his head in exasperation, but the warmth in his countenance betrayed his fondness for the woman. “Her family is gone, and she seems to have come to think of my friend and I as her sons.” He chuckled. “As such, she can be slightly overprotective!”

_Nosy_ seemed like a better word, but the swordsman only grunted.

Dimitri soon stopped in front of a small cottage, lovingly nurtured flowerbeds on either side of the front door boasting a profusion of blossoms despite the increasing chill. 

Before he knew it, Felix was taking a seat on a bed sitting in the main room of the simply furnished cottage. The inside was decorated with both wall hangings and ceramics with the same style of designs that covered the blond’s tunic, and many potted flowers were also spread throughout.

The taller man returned another a room in the back, several items carried in his arms. “It would seem my friend has stepped out after all. I had intended to ask him to treat you. I am sorry, but…” He frowned, looking back and forth between the supplies and Felix’s bloody sleeve.

“Go ahead.” The injured man said dismissively, feeling his lips quirking into a wry smile. “I already know you’re terrible at first aid. Just_ try_ not to break my arm.”

At first, the blond blinked mysteriously at Felix’s sudden playful tone. Then he gave an enthusiastic nod and took a seat beside him, spreading out the supplies on top of the bedcovering. Their combined weight on the mattress ended up shifting them close enough that their knees bumped together before they both instantly pulled away. “Well then, would you?”

Felix nodded, undoing his makeshift bandage and tugging off both his overcoat and shirt to allow better access to the laceration on his upper arm. Immediately, he felt curious eyes tracing a path over his chest and abdomen. In spite of himself, he felt his heart speed up and his cheeks grow warm.

“You are a warrior.” The blond’s words were full of wonder as he appraised Felix’s body with interest.

“What, the swords give me away?” He barked sarcastically to hide his embarrassment. “Besides…so are you, idiot.”

“Me?” The blond shook his head quizzically. “Not at all. I know my way around a weapon, but teaching the village children self-defense is the extent of my experience. I can’t imagine actually having to harm someone. Though… I suppose I would if it were necessary.”

So. He didn’t remember _that_ either.

“How long have you been in this village?” He probed.

“A little over two years… I think.”

“You _think_?”

Dimitri paused, his good eye taking on a faraway look as his brow furrowed in recollection. “My earliest memory… is a man beside my bed, clutching my hand like it was his lifeline. He seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t remember who he was. But as soon as I sat up, he began to weep and embraced me tightly in his arms.” The corners of his lips were tugged upwards by the memory. “He nursed me back to health, and then we came to the village. We’ve lived here together ever since. He is very precious to me.”

“Is that so…” The shorter man murmured, torn between gratefulness and resentment.

“I am a bit embarrassed to be telling you so much, but somehow…” His cheeks went faintly red as he glanced bashfully down at the floor. “You give me the same feeling he did. You feel so _familiar_. I am not so foolish as to invite a stranger—a traveler with another’s blood on his clothes, no less—into my home.” He looked back up, the stare meeting his own head-on. “But I do not think you are a stranger."

Felix’s own heartbeat was deafening in his ears. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from answering, clenched his fists in his lap to prevent himself from reaching out and showing the blond exactly _how_ familiar they were…or at least, how familiar they should have been. 

Yet he couldn’t restrain himself from leaning forward and abruptly pulling the larger man down into his arms, seeking to confine broad shoulders in his grasp. He initially felt the other’s body go rigid against him, but it quickly relaxed, and he soon felt arms hesitantly slipping beneath his own and wrapping around him in return, albeit more gingerly than his own death grip.

The torrent of emotions went surging through his body at that moment felt like a relentless hurricane; he felt the overwhelming urge to inform him that they were childhood friends, that they had always been together, that they still should be, that he’d just spent more than two years fruitlessly searching a continent for him. 

“I missed you _so much_.” He managed to choke out instead, as if that somehow said everything.

He must have sounded near tears, because a moment later, one of the hands pressed against his back timidly began to pat in comforting motions meant to soothe him. The act led him to squeeze even tighter, spurred by a sudden need to chain them together any way he could, to prevent the man in his grasp from vanishing once more. The nostalgic scent tickling his nose served to stoke the long deprived flames of longing burning in his chest.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that; their breaths, and even their heartbeats were audible in the poignant silence, and for Felix, it sounded like a distant whisper of what _could_ have been. 

But then Dimitri was gently tugging away all too soon, a tiny flush appearing on his cheeks when he heard Felix’s responding grunt of reluctance. He motioned to Felix’s arm. 

“I _am_ sorry,” He chuckled awkwardly, looking away from the scowl on the raven-haired man’s face. “…but your wound must be seen to. It would not do for it to become infected.”

Then Felix was hissing as a damp cloth was dabbed over his wound, disinfecting the coagulated line of black and red. His motions were deliberately soft, endeavoring to be as gentle as possible, and Felix again felt heat ascend to his cheeks. They didn’t speak any further as Dimitri continued his delicate ministrations.

That made it all the more startling when, just as Dimitri finished tying the bandage to Felix’s arm, the front door abruptly flew open. A resounding rumble was sent through the tiny cottage walls as it slammed back against the wall from the sheer force by which it was opened. They both shot around to face the door.

A tall, familiar man stood in the doorway, breathless like he had just sprinted a great distance. His eyes underwent a rapid transition in the span of a second; initially panic, then to relief once he saw Dimitri, then suddenly shock when his eyes alighted on the shirtless man seated beside him.

“Dedue?” The blond blinked in surprise at the sudden arrival. “I was certain you must have gone out to the field.”

Of _course_. He’d been certain of the identity of Dimitri’s savior and housemate ever since he recalled just _where_ he’d seen the designs on the blond’s tunic and earrings. They were Duscur designs.

“Yes, I was. However, Melika came rushing onto the field in a flurry, worried because she had seen you going home with a suspicious man in tow.”

That _nosy hag_.

“Oh…” Dimitri frowned guiltily. “My apologies, I did not mean to worry you.”

The taller man shook his head as he finally stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I am just glad you are safe, Dima. But…” Green eyes narrowed as they fixed on him and Felix bore his teeth in a menacing mock of a smile before tugging his shirt back on.

“_Well_. Long time no see.” 

“…Dima, would you be so kind as to head out to the field? Melika is still out there, and she would certainly be reassured by your presence.”

A frown clouded Dimitri’s expression as he looked back and forth between them, understanding that the men obviously knew each other, and that Dedue wished to speak with Felix in private. But for some reason, he seemed reluctant to comply. Maybe he was frustrated that there was information being withheld from him -- or perhaps he could smell blood in the water. Whatever it was, it vanished as soon as it appeared. “Of course. I must apologize to her as well, it is not good to frighten someone her age.” He got up to make his way over to the entrance. “…I will return later, then.”

Despite his words, he cast another hesitant glance back at both Felix and Dedue before finally forcing his gaze away and exiting the home.

The door had was shut gently, but the sound of it closing seemed to echo like thunder through the otherwise quiet room. They watched each other with a strange stillness, Felix wearing a sharp glare while Dedue remained unnervingly expressionless. The atmosphere was thick and stifling, laden with a myriad of unspoken questions and accusations.

“…I will prepare some tea.” Dedue finally announced, breaking the standoff.

And so, Felix found himself a few minutes later seated stiffly across from the larger man at a small dining table with the appetizing aroma of Almyran Pine Needles wafting up from an ornate teacup decorated in the same Duscur style he was now finding everywhere.

With his combativeness mildly soothed by the fragrance of his favorite tea, the swordsman leaned forward with his elbows over the table, the sound issuing from his lips midway between a tired sigh and a groan of frustration. He lightly tapped his knuckles against the table’s wooden surface. 

“So. Just what happened at Gronder?”

Dedue let out a breath in return, shaking his head at the memory. “It is terrifying even now to recall how close he came to death that day. But as you have no doubt discovered… his Highness has lost all memory before two years ago.”

_Great Tree Moon, 1185 _

The Imperial retreat sounded just as Dedue swung his axe down on the exposed throat of an enemy soldier, instantly crushing their windpipe and severing their carotid artery. The horn blared out across the battlefield, loud enough to be heard over the clash of metal and cries of combat. He turned to survey the battlefield.

The Alliance must have been victorious; The Adrestian troops responded quickly, switching tactics and beginning to move into defensive formation, forming columns and drawing back while guarding the Emperor’s retreat.

Dedue immediately scanned the terrain for his charge, who he’d taken the utmost care to stay close to for the entire duration of the battle. He soon found him, drenched in the blood of countless soldiers from both the Empire and the Alliance. He watched as the man mercilessly ripped his lance from a corpse at his feet, slowly turning around as his sunken eyes bulged with demented fury at the sound of a retreat. 

And then he shouted the Emperor’s name, the guttural roar a chasmic manifestation of fathomless hatred, more demon than animal. With slow, precise movements, he took a single step forward--

\---Then lunged.

“Your Highness!” Dedue cried desperately, pushing forward as fast as he could; but it was far too late. The man threw himself into the defensive columns of soldiers all by himself—and they were ready.

Dedue sprinted towards the column with all his might, watching as the frenzied monarch mowed them down one after another. Then suddenly, six soldiers were on him all at once. Dedue was close enough to hear the sickening ‘crunch!’ as a massive blunt end of a hammer was mercilessly slammed against his skull. He watched with horror when, as if in slow motion, Dimitri’s body suddenly went limp and crumpled facedown in the mud ground like a broken marionette.

As he closed in, roughly half of the group broke off to block his approach. Dedue brandished his axe, but could see beyond them the multiple glinting blades moving to plunge mercilessly through the prince’s unguarded back. A shrill buzz of panic filled his head as sheer terror seized his heart.

The man he cherished more than anything – his savior, his king, his _everything_\-- was about to be killed before his very eyes.

He could feel the claws of despair digging into him, pulling him downward. That young boy who shielded him, who took the mortal blow meant to extinguish his life. Who reached out to him, clasping his hands in his own, showed him that the world yet held beauty, that life was still worth living. Was this _really _to be his fate?

“_Hiya_-!”

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, salvation appeared.

A young woman gave a shout and sprung forward, swinging her massive hero’s relic at the troops blocking his path, commanding their attention. The attack created a momentary rift in their defenses, granting him the precious moment he needed to break through to the fallen monarch’s position. There was no time to say thank you, no time to question her reasons for assisting a man who had most assuredly taken the lives of soldiers she called friends. Perhaps it was lingering sentiment from their school days, or maybe she simply took pity on a desperate man. But whatever her motivations, Hilda Valentine Goneril chose to aid him.

The retainer wasted no time charging forward, axe gripped in both hands and raised overhead to strike. The figures flanking his prince didn’t notice him until his shadow set upon them, bludgeoning the heavy blade against one skull and then another in quick succession, a third imperial sent flying by the full weight of his body and armor slamming into them.

He hastily snatched up the unconscious, bleeding body of his king, slinging him over his shoulder as delicately as he could manage under the circumstances, then broke into a mad dash. He needed to _go_. Somewhere. _Anywhere._

He sprinted frantically across the battlefield with singleminded desperation, dodging attackers as deftly as he could under the additional burden and the use of only one hand. Of the few archers who attempted fire, mercifully only two met their mark, both shots bouncing feebly off his armor. 

Dedue ended up at one of the forests flanking the field, though he couldn’t say which one. He thought he recalled seeing one—or had it been two?-- on a map of the area. He wasn’t even sure of which direction they were heading anymore, but he guessed west or south. It didn’t matter.

He hesitated only momentarily as the foliage grew denser. Seeing the uneven terrain ahead, he opted to reposition his hold on the unconscious blond to ensure he wouldn’t suffer the brunt of any spills the retainer took while stumbling over protruding tree roots and fallen logs in his exhaustion. He fastened his arms under each of his knees, pulling the other man onto his back and tugging his limp arms up over his shoulders to keep him balanced. Dimitri’s head lolled forward to rest against his shoulder for support. Then he was off running once again.

Pure determination and adrenaline fueled him, allowing him to ignore the screaming of his own lungs, the blood he could taste in his mouth. He kept going. He _needed_ to get his Highness to safety, he needed to get him medical attention as soon as possible.

When he recalled the memory of this escape later, he would find the details blurry and vague, the scenery shrouded by a murky veil. Only the pressing need to _keep going_ along with a mantra of prayers sent to all the gods and goddesses of Duscur, to the goddess of Fódlan, to anyone listening to please _save Dimitri_ remained vivid in his memory.

At some point, he must have passed out. When he awoke, he did not find himself on a hard, unforgiving forest floor, but on a soft bed, covered with a blanket. His armor had been removed for him. 

As the images came spilling back, he sat up so abruptly he almost slipped off the mattress, frantically scanning his surroundings. His eyes landed on a woman with long, graying hair bent over another bed beside him. And lying there unconscious was—

He scrambled out of bed, clumsy on his feet from his earlier overexertion, half crawling over to the prone form of the man he valued more than anything else in the entire world.

“He’s alive.” The woman who seemed to be tending to him said with a disapproving click of her tongue when he made his way over, his knees giving way just as he reached the bedside. “Go get some more rest; You can’t even stand!”

He ignored her, his heart giving a painful squeeze when he saw by just how _fragile _Dimitri looked at that moment, as though he might simply disappear into a whisp of smoke at any moment. He felt himself relax only slightly when he noted the clear rise and fall of his chest, weak as it was. He heaved a long, deep, anguished sigh of relief rested his head against the bed.

Somehow, by some miracle, they’d been saved. A hunter had come across their unconscious forms at the opposite edge of the forest. They were presently inside the clinic of a town inside imperial territory, found in such shabby condition they’d been mistaken as a couple of sellswords caught in the crossfire of the struggle. As far as the people of the Empire knew, the Kingdom hadn’t even participated in the battle at Gronder Field. To them, the Kingdom was a long subjugated land, and the only present conflict was being waged between the Empire and the Alliance. They had no way of knowing the pair they rescued were the long-dead Prince of Fearghus and his loyal retainer.

Five days later and Dimitri still hadn’t woken up. Dedue never left his side, even opting to sleep in the chair beside his bed, holding his hand or talking to him in the hopes that somehow, somewhere, Dimitri would be able to sense that he wasn't alone. The doctor forced him away when she was working, but begrudgingly allowed him to do as he pleased any other time -- on condition that he at least _eat_ something.

Finally, after two impossibly long weeks. Dimitri opened his eyes.

But he no longer knew who he was, who Dedue was, or even his own name.

“It was a severe head injury,” the healer explained grimly, “…and it’s nothing short of miraculous that he got off with memory loss. But you _must not_ force him before he is ready; you would only confuse him, or worse, damage his psyche. Allow his memories come back on their own. Or…” She trailed off, expression severe. “They may _never_ come back, especially if, as I suspect, the root of this memory loss is psychological in nature.”

It felt a bit lonely, if he were honest with himself, to think that Dimitri had forgotten all of their time together, their shared pain, their common bond. And the time at his side that Dedue held so close to his heart. But what mattered most was that he was safe. 

Dedue swore that he would aid Dimitri in his ambitions, whatever they may be. He felt his pain and his happiness as his own. And if the doctor was saying that Dimitri didn’t _want_ to remember…

“Doctor …” He didn’t look away from the prince’s sleeping face, more peaceful than he’d ever seen it even under the circumstances. “What is the most far-removed village in the Empire you can think of?”

_ Horsebow Moon, 1187 _

He took a deep breath, finishing off his explanation.

“She claimed that while the injury may have been the catalyst, the actual root may be psychological—that perhaps he was unknowingly suppressing his own memories. And so, we started a life in this small, peaceful, remote village.”

Felix sat listening in silence the whole time, his arms crossed over his chest. But now, seething rage roiled in his stomach. Felix opened his mouth, potent acid ready on the tip of his tongue.

“And you just stayed quiet, without telling anyone he was alive? You kept a land’s _king_ from them?” He snarled, shaking his head with disgust. “…_Unbelievable_.”

“You misunderstand me. My devotion has always been to his Highness -to _Dimitri_-, and to him alone. Not the Kingdom. I have told you this once before.”

“Do you _really _think running from the truth will help him?” The dishes on the table rattled as he slammed his fist down.

“I was there with him, on that day.” The words _unlike you _weren’t ever spoken, but Felix felt like he’d heard them anyway, scalding a path down his spine. “…The way he charged the lines with no possible way to prevail. He was searching for a place to _die_ on that battlefield, I am sure of it now. And if a new life, free of the past and the weight of ghosts is what saved him… then I won’t let _anyone_ take that for him.” He leveled the man with a steady gaze, full of conviction.

“So, what story did you give him?” Felix sneered, leaning back in his seat. “Did you tell him that the two of you were happy little _lovers_? Just a peasant couple farming to get by?”

“_Never_. I told him only that he helped me in the past, and that I had chosen to stay by his side and serve him as gratitude.”

“Didn’t you say before you’d help him take Edelgard’s head?”

“And I would have, if that was still what he wished for. But as his circumstances changed, I judged that how I support him would need to adapt accordingly.”

“Oh, I can see how you’re _supporting_ him.” Felix spat out with vitriol, sharply motioning to the single bed in the room with his chin. “I underestimated you. You’re _quite_ the opportunist, aren’t you?”

Dedue’s face scrunched in disgust at the implication that he had taken advantage of Dimitri’s vulnerability, a flash of anger in his eyes. “What kind of animal do you take me for?”

“A _dog_ who can’t resist running up to his master’s leg and-”

“That is _my _bed. There is another one in the back room.” He explained patiently, pointedly ignoring the crass remark.

“You put yours out here so you can hear him if he tries to escape, huh?”

Felix could have _sworn_ he saw the taciturn man’s eyes roll at that. “I suppose I should be flattered that you believe me strong enough to force his Highness to stay _anywhere _against his will.”

“You just can’t stand it, can you?” Felix hissed out, deep old resentment bubbling up. “The thought that maybe he could rely on someone _besides_ you!”

Dedue opened his mouth to retort but suddenly paused, eyes widening like he just realized something shocking. Blinking, he softly continued.

“You envy me.” He said it like a question, amazement filling his voice.

“Your throat becomes a more tantalizing target for my blade by the moment.” Felix growled lowly, leaping to his feet as though to retrieve the weapon in question.

“You _do_,” Dedue continued, disregarding the threat. “But you shouldn’t. It is I who have always envied you.”

“_Shut up!_” Felix didn’t want to hear it, not from anyone, and especially not from this man of all people.

“Think about it for a moment.” His voice was a note softer than its usual, disaffected tone, and Felix would rather _die _than consider the possibility that he was being pitied. “His Highness would see you and recall a time of light and happiness in his life. Your meeting with him is a warm, nostalgic memory. On the other hand…” A shadow flitted to his face. “You know how he and I met. While it is an immeasurably significant memory to me, it is not exactly a heartwarming one.”

“He never confided in me about what was really going on with him. Not _once_.” He hated the way his voice wavered.

“Could you not tell simply by looking?” Dedue asked incredulously. “The way his eyes trailed after you whenever you stormed out of the room, the way his eyes lit up when you invited him to spar?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You are clumsier than I realized.”

The words cut deep, suggesting a possibility Felix had never, ever wanted to consider; that somehow, _he_ had inadvertently been the one who had pulled away from the hand grasping at his. If so…was he too late?

“Are the apparitions gone?” He finally managed to rasp out, dropping back into his seat.

“…He sees them still. Not often, no. But every once in a while, he wakes up and describes dreams of faces he does not know and memories that he cannot recall. But... he's been healing, I believe. It will take more time, but I think that, if his memories do return… he will be ready to face them.”

“He’s happy like this,” Felix admitted. “But I’m still not saying I won’t take him back to what remains of the Kingdom and make him see reality.”

“If that is his choice, I will not stand in your way. However…” Dedue fixed him again with that level stare. “If you try to force him, I _will_ stop you.”

“I guess I should be flattered you think I could force that boar to go anywhere.” He said, throwing Dedue’s own words back at him.

The man of Duscur blinked in surprise at the taunt, then actually let out a tiny chuckle.

They spent several moments in silence then, the atmosphere easing into something not _comfortable_, exactly… but not nearly as heavy as it was before. Perhaps because they had begrudgingly fumbled their way to the common ground they shared. As Felix finished off his now lukewarm tea, Dedue continued.

“How did you find us here?”

“I traveled, looking. Since the battle of Gronder Field. This village was a pitstop because I got stabbed by a cutpurse. I didn’t even mean to come here.” 

Dedue seemed somewhat taken aback.“You mean to say you _blindly_ searched Fódlan for his Highness? You are… surprisingly devoted.”

“I don’t want to hear that from _you_.”

“Perhaps you and I are not so different after all.”

“Say it again and I’ll cut you.” But the swordsman’s words held less bite than before.

Dedue simply offered him a small smile in return.“The healer is coming back this evening. Please make yourself at home until then.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Until this evening? Who says I’ll leave after that?”

He wasn’t too late, not yet. Maybe he hadn’t been able to support him before, but…

_Never again._

“….What do you mean?” Dedue’s brow raised in question.

“I’m saying, maybe_ I’ll _stay too.” He smirked fearlessly. “You think _you_ can support him best? _No one_ knows that boar as well as I do.”

Dedue stared back at him halfway admiringly, and half akin to the way one would look at a cockroach.

\----

That night, Felix had a dream of his childhood. A memory he’d long forgotten. 

He and Dimitri were playing in the hunting grounds behind the Fraldarius estate without permission. As the sun began to set over the horizon, he challenged Dimitri to a race him back. The blond had eagerly agreed of course, and the two were off, laughing and running as fast as their little legs would take them.

They took separate paths, each trying to outsmart the other and gain an edge by taking a shortcut. As Felix emerged from the trees and scanned the surroundings, he gave cheer of delight, elated to see that he was the winner. He turned to wait with his hands on his hips, ready to bask in his victory.

But a few minutes passed, then several more. Finally, an hour had gone by. But Dimitri still didn’t emerge from the density of trees.

Felix felt like crying, scolding himself for suggesting the contest; no matter how often Dimitri came over to play, there was no way he would know the twists and turns of the grounds like he did.

It was getting dark. He could hear the howls of nocturnal animals. But he steeled himself and marched right in, his training sword gripped tightly in his hand.

He ended up finding him in the middle of a rocky outcropping, the blond child huddled with his knees against his chest, bottom lip quivering. He looked up when he heard Felix’s footsteps, and his impossibly blue eyes widened and filled with tears.

“You came for me…”  
  
“_Duh_!” He exclaimed, holding out his hand and helping the young prince to his feet, and neither one pulled away from the hold. “I’m supposed to protect you when we grow up, remember? So, whenever you get lost, you can just wait for me. I’ll come find you.”

As he began leading Dimitri back to the exit, past the frightening sounds that filled the wilderness at night, he squeezed his hand more tightly.

“…Thank you, Felix.”

The two young boys made their way back to the estate, tightly linked by their shared grasp, both prepared to face anything lurking in the darkness as long as they were together.

**Author's Note:**

> Does Felix leave Dimitri in the village with Dedue and return home alone? Does Felix take Dimitri back with him? Or, do they all stay in the village? That's open to your interpretation. : )
> 
> And why Hilda specifically? Because she's the only one we know was canonically fighting nearby Dimitri during the battle on the GD route and would have been close enough to feasibly intervene.


End file.
